Tickle the time when your dreams can come true,
Leave behind old scores unsettled, magnify
Your hopes and twist the reality we call fate.
Lie merchants breath life into old bones dangling,
In the soft comfortable chair paused in time,
Channel after channel of dreamers delight.
Seldom have we marched to one drum beat,
Seldom have we sung one anthem so loud,
Tribal roots calling, calling us back home.
Shuffle softly to the head of the queue,
Where dark dim archways beckon us away from
The cold, caves of welcome invite us in.
© David R. Durham